


Menin Gate At Midnight

by DelgadoAinley



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Car Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hanticipation, M/M, Oral Sex, Possessive Hannibal, Someone Help Will Graham, Top Hannibal, Will dances, ice-cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelgadoAinley/pseuds/DelgadoAinley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is one of 'those' crime scenes, where the dead scream too loud in the silence. Will finds a way to quieten his thoughts, only it's not the way Hannibal expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do You Know How To Dance?

Will pressed his fingers into his temples firmly, closing his eyes. He tried to hang onto the noise of the team around him; the technicians kneeling in blood to gain samples, their soft brushes sweeping at the stains. The IT guys, making plastic and metal sounds as they took a wall mounted phone apart. Jack’s insistent, strident demands for people to hurry up, move out of his way, what was that? Are you chewing gum in my crime scene? All comforting, familiar sounds. But all he could hear were the dead bodies lying in front of him. They were the only silent beings on the first story of this Middle America house, but they were screaming so loud in the silence. 

The sound burnt at his ears, piercing his thoughts until all he could see was the familiar unfolding of a life about to end in front of him. Will started to speak, directing his words towards Jack, though his eyes were closed and he couldn’t make out where the man was in the room. “He shot her first….” The story unfolds from his lips, but there is something different here. They are so loud, still screaming at him in the silence. The bodies on the floor are aggressive, stealing his attention and concentration until they are all he can think about. Even when their story is told and Jack is looking at him with that look on his face, the-precious-china look Hannibal calls it, the dead are still yelling at him. Sometimes they get like this, draining everything from him until he is their ball of rage, a living representation of the lives they left unfinished. He drums his fingers into his temples harder, scrunching his elbows in around his head. “Make it stop,” he mumbles to himself. 

And then he knows Hannibal has just walked through the door, into the crime scene. The harsh jangling in his ears settles and with his eyes closed, he knows Hannibal is at the threshold of the crime scene, has crossed into it, knows when he passes Jack, when he crouches by the bodies. There is a sense of a cool, dark presence in the room, like a waterfall over fire. Though his hands are still clenched around his screaming thoughts, Will knows every move Hannibal makes in the room, until the doctor stands by his side. There is the firm pressure of a hand on his shoulder and a voice so close to his ear that Will’s eyes flicker open immediately. Is Hannibal that close? When he opens them, he sees only the immaculate blond of his hair, his fringe as Hannibal looks out at the crime scene once more. But he had been that close, close enough for breath to linger behind Will’s ear, the hand firm. Almost possessive. Almost. Almost what he wants it to be. 

Will coughs. The doctor is too good at reading faces to keep that particular train of thought running. Opening his eyes has brought him back into contact with the dead. Their aggressive spirits stand at the other side of the room and watch him, judgmental. “Good afternoon, William,” Hannibal says, that accent drowning out the dead, making Will turn to him with suppressed eagerness. It is something he has learnt around Hannibal, this suppression. Suppress the urge to be amazed, suppress the urge to gape and gaze at him as he moves in a room like a chained panther, suppress the urge to jump his bones and mess up that tie, drag Hannibal forward with it until….Hannibal has a faint smile on his face and he’s returning Will’s gaze. 

Will coughs again. “Afternoon, Doctor.”

“You should do something about that cough, Will,” Hannibal comments, his dark eyes roaming to the spot where Will saw the spirits. He tilted his head slightly, then turned to look at Will. “I have some medicine, if you wish.”

“Here,” one of the technicians hands Will a paper mug of hot, sweet tea. “Try not to infect the crime scene with your coughing,” they mutter, before walking away. Hannibal’s eyes follow them, narrowing a fraction as the technician walks away. He watches Will’s throat work as he swallows, the pulse in his neck making Hannibal’s teeth ache. 

Will pours too hot, too sweet tea down his throat in an effort to not respond to Hannibal’s words. He would be sure the man was making a double entendre, if he didn’t know his own luck. His own luck had got him living in a house full of dogs, albeit loveable ones. His own luck had landed him Special Investigator, not Agent. His own luck had landed him a class full of people who stared like dead fishes and finally, his own luck left him sweating out his nightmares, unable to sleep. So no, his own luck didn’t run to Hannibal Lecter flirting with him by making double entendres. He concentrated on the tea, closing his eyes again, in relief this time. The doctors’ presence drowned out the screaming of the newly deceased. The room was blessedly silent once more and Will relaxed back onto his heels, unkinking out the muscles in his arms by clenching and unclenching his fists. 

“These are louder, Will?” Hannibal’s voice was more of a statement than a question, but Will nodded anyway. He opened his eyes again, looking through his fingers at Hannibal. The man stood a little distance away from him – was that too close to be professional? Your luck, Will reminded himself, now you fantasize about your psychiatrist in addition to seeing the dead. You really hit the mental jackpot. Hannibal’s gaze was on Will’s fingers, rather than his face, then they shifted and he was hit by the sudden focusing of the dark eyes on his own. 

“Yes. They’re….they’re too loud,” Will stated, resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands once more. “This is wrong,” he added, looking around at the crime scene once more. “This is all wrong. They’re lying. He’s hiding something.” 

“Hiding what?” Hannibal is calm, his arms loosely at his sides as he watches the people move around the room. 

“I don’t know yet. But…the sounds are too loud. Out here, in here,” he taps his temples. “Every little sound has me jumping.”

Hannibal considers. “You did not jump when I touched your shoulder, Will.”

“I wasn’t surprised by it,” Will commented. 

Hannibal glanced up at him, from beneath dark blonde eyelashes. He is struck by the sharp angle of the cheekbones, the preternatural beauty of the face that holds his enthralled. “You weren’t surprised by me touching you?” he asked. There is something heavier in his voice, something darker. Will takes a step forward involuntarily, towards it. Hannibal doesn’t take one back away from him, as Will expects. 

“No. By you. I wasn’t surprised by you. I always know where you are in a room, even if it’s crowded.” Too late, Will realized the words that had fallen out of his mouth. He swallowed and looked down, away, looking back at the crime scene. The spirits stand against the wall, silent now, as they have been since Hannibal arrived. Their mocking eyes still watch him though, but now they seem to be mocking his words rather than his inability to find their killer. After a moment, Will realized the doctor hadn’t said anything in reply. He looked up. 

Hannibal was looking back down at him and with a start, Will met his gaze. The man had a neat smile tucked into his face, the eyes unexpectedly warm. This time Will was sure Jack, over the other side of the room yelling into a phone, could hear him swallow. And Jack, putting down the phone, does yell then. Only it’s not about eyefucking Hannibal, which Will is sure he is doing right now. Or that Hannibal isn’t interested, which again, Will is sure is happening right now. His luck, remember. Instead, Jack is yelling to get his attention. He’s loud, annoyed, frustrated and his voice cuts through the FBI team like a knife through butter but it is still the hardest thing to tear his eyes away from Hannibal’s warm ones, waiting to see what happens after the smile. 

“What?” Will snaps, hearing a low, throaty chuckle next to him. It sends a shiver down his spine. 

“Your 2pm lecture that Dr. Bloom is covering. One of your students has had some kind of aggressive outburst with another. Graham, you need to have that shit under control. We don’t need rogue FBI rookies out for each other’s blood. Go sort it out. Then call me with your theories,” Jack orders. He flicks his fingers towards one of the local Police covering the crime scene. “Take Graham back to the lab. Doctor Lecter, perhaps we might borrow your mind? While Will puts the babies back in their cots,” he says in frustration. Will Graham had a damn fine mind and leaving it to rot in a teaching job was the worst use of it Jack could think of. 

For a moment, Hannibal doesn’t move, watching Will gather his satchel together and stalk, grumbling, out of the crime scene. Will passes him and looks up once more, forms a word with his mouth and then swallows it again. Hannibal watches him do it, wants to throw Will up against the Formica tiles behind them and devour the word from his mouth. Instead, he nods. 

**

Will drives home, eyes fixed on the line in the road in front of him. The voices of the murdered still ring in his ears, more insistent now. Loud, aggressive, like banshees now that Hannibal isn’t here to quieten them. He tries to turn his mind to the doctor, but the memories of the dead leech into it. Nothing in the bone area of his skull for those he loves. Will swore, punching at the steering wheel. In response, the screaming in his thoughts gets louder. It will be a bad night. It stretches before him, long and empty. He will wake sweating and screaming himself. They will be in the darkness and they will be loud. Abruptly, he swings the car into a bend, righting it and heading back the way he has come. 

On nights like this, there are only two things that help him. One is talking to Hannibal, or being near him. The doctor is the only calm spot in the nightmares. The other is rhythmic music, fast, with a drumbeat like the pounding of a heart. Somehow, it gets inside him and there is nothing other than the music in his veins. He knows which one he would rather choose, but after his slip of the tongue today with Hannibal, Will knew the safer option would be to choose the club. If he called Hannibal, the man would come, he knew, the doctor was too polite to refuse a request from their friendship. But he didn’t trust himself not to reach out, not to push the perfect blazer from the even more perfect shoulders. He wanted to fuck the smugness off that face. 

The club loomed up before he realized it, on the outskirts of the city, still in an alright neighborhood, just before it dissolved into projects. A neon light flashed, catching at the edges of his vision. He was beginning to get a headache. Will downed the last two Percocet in his pocket, swallowing them whole without water and slipped by the bouncer when he was distracted with two redheaded women. Will preferred blondes. Tall ones, with dark eyes and jawlines that were made for biting, for water dripping from them. He blinked, shaking his head slightly. Settle down. He couldn’t. His veins thrummed with noise, the screams of the family ringing in his ears. Will pushed his way through the dancers, to a corner of the dance floor. It was packed, but the corner gave him enough space from the others. 

Hannibal’s fingers ran smoothly across the glass plate of the phone, dialing Will’s number from memory. He leant forward over the railing in front of his bookcases, folding one arm over the other as he did so. The phone rang, showing Will’s FBI ID photo. The phone answered suddenly, filling the quietness of his house with a sudden burst of loud music. 

He listened for a moment, before speaking. “Will.” There was no answer; no breathing on the end of the line and Hannibal would know every waiting breath, every regular breath that came from Will’s mouth. There were other breath sounds he wanted to discover, but none of them could be heard right now. There was no-one on the end of the line, other than some disgustingly loud and crude R&B. Will’s phone had a sensitive lock on it, he was often complaining about accidentally answering calls without answering them. Hannibal listened for a few more moments, making out the sounds of a crowd of people dancing amongst the awful music. It jarred his ears, but not before he heard a DJ announce the name of a song. And the name of the club. Menin Gate.

Hannibal shut off the call and brought up the clubs’ website. It gave directions and a description of the place as what promised to be the hottest R&B destination in town. Tasteless, poorly dressed and ill-mannered people performing mockeries of dance to what was nothing more than an animal beat. The savagery of tribal drums ramped up for the modern world. And what was Will Graham doing in its’ grip? Intrigued, Hannibal drew his keys from the drawer, sliding them into his hand. 

The club looked like bad taste had thrown up. Hannibal’s eyes were fairly assaulted by the lurid leopard print and gold on display. This was not Will Graham’s kind of place. It did not fit with the man at all, a jarring juxtaposition that was too interesting to ignore. He sidestepped a mass of jiggling bodies in tight clothes and tighter expressions, begging for attention and fame. One pushed against him, trying to get through. Hannibal’s eyes flickered down to her, narrowing to slits. “Hey!....Sorry, sorry man,” she exclaimed, quickly reversing the verbal track she’d been about to take in her mind. 

Hannibal circled the edges of the seething mass of people in the middle of the dancefloor. Though he hadn’t said it to Will today, the sense was mutual. As the only one worth paying attention to in the room, Hannibal was acutely aware of where the man was at all times. He spotted Will to the back and right, mixed in with a group of people. They were packed in around him, but not with him. Will was his own small island in the crowd of people, dancing. 

He circled closer, standing at the back of the crowd, leaning against a none too clean wall. Will was dancing, alone, lost in the beat of the music. His eyes were closed, his mouth moving in words known only to himself. And his dancing; there came a roll of his hips that had Hannibal achingly hard and wanting to kill everyone in the room at the same time. 

He cut through the swathe of dancers until he was only two people from Will. The man’s hips rolled and swayed in rhythm with the underlying beat of the music, the rhythmic, pulsing drums in line with some savage drum beat from centuries ago. Will was lost to it, his dance completely different to the people around him. Their faces blurred to one boring entity as Hannibal stood behind Will. 

“I fear a comment about a man like you being in a place like this would be distasteful,” Hannibal commented, leaning forward just a little so his voice carried to Will. 

Will froze. 

He turned around slowly, opening his eyes. He half expected no-one to be stood there and only his own fevered thoughts conjuring up Hannibal. But the doctor was stood there, dressed in an exquisitely tailored charcoal suit, a vibrant emerald shirt that lit up the blonde hair and a coal black tie. The suit molded to his figure, outlining the lean, lithe muscles and…Will realized he was staring. 

“I could make the same comment to you,” he recovered himself. 

“I tried to call you, I have been thinking about our killer. You accidentally answered and I heard this…” Hannibal’s nostrils flared slightly in distaste. “I had to see what would bring you to this place.” He took a few steps closer, to narrow the space between himself and Will. Will’s eyes flickered, from Hannibal’s face to his suit and back again. Will swallowed again. 

“Dance with me,” Will ordered. He didn’t miss the way Hannibal’s pupils dilated at the order. 

“Dance with you?” Hannibal replied, obligingly stepping into Will’s personal space. “This is not dancing.”

Will stared up at him, “Do you know how to dance?”

Hannibal arched one dark blonde eyebrow. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Will obligingly stood on the balls of his feet and whispered against Hannibal’s ear. He felt the man still next to him. A hand snaked around Will’s waist to hold him there, steadying him against the movement of the others. “I said, do you know how to dance?”

Hannibal laughed, the sound rich and deep, making Will’s nerves hum. He had not moved the hand on Will’s waist and brought his own hips a hairs breadth from Will’s. When he rolled his hips in time with the beat, Will’s heart gave a painful lurch. Though not as painful as the sudden tightening of his jeans. Hannibal was graceful, a lion surrounded by sheep, undeniably powerful. He danced with a coiled dangerousness. The hand on his waist spread its fingers, tightening its hold on Will. He was brought in against Hannibal, feeling the rocking of Hannibal’s hips against his own. Will bit his lip, biting back a groan. Hannibal had to feel how hard he was, like this. 

“What brings you to a place like this, William?” Hannibal asked. Will looked at him with unfocused eyes, the pupils blown and it is all Hannibal can do to not fuck him senseless right there. 

“The music,” Will said after a beat. He dared to rest a hand on Hannibal’s waist. The heat of the man radiated from the skin underneath the blazer. Hannibal brought his free hand to rest on Will’s on his back, steepling his fingers through Will’s. He brought both their hands around to rest on Hannibal’s hip. His eyes dilated as Will’s hips writhed in time to the music. His hand snaked through the dark curls of Will’s hair; Will leant in, his lips inches from Hannibal’s neck. “The music helps me settle. The beat I guess. When the voices are so loud, so angry, like today, there are only two things that work for me.”

Hannibal’s voice is close, against his ear, breath tickling his jawline. It is deep and rougher than he has heard it before. “Losing yourself in the beat helps the aggression fade, ye?s A classic redirection technique” Will nodded. “Tell me, what is the other thing?”

Will is silent for long moments. When he looks up, there is a delicious crimson on his cheekbones. Hannibal smiles indulgently. “Tell me.”

“You don’t need to know all my secrets,” Will said, almost to himself.

“You will tell me,” Hannibal ordered, gruffly into Will’s ear. He felt Will whimper, rather than heard it. He closed his eyes at the sound, balls beginning to ache. 

“The other thing is you,” Will explained. “Being around you, or hearing your voice. You’re calm.”

“I am very rarely calm around you, William.”


	2. Menin Gate At Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows on from Do You Know How To Dance? 
> 
> Wherever Will's good luck fairy had been hiding all his life, because she sure hadn't been around, he forgave her. The man with the mussed up blonde hair and the messed up eyes drowned out everything else in the club.

“The feeling’s mutual, Dr Lecter,” Will murmured.

Hannibal’s eyes were pitch black at his words, his face open in a way that Will had only ever seen a few times before. It was relaxed and taut at the same time, the black eyes holding his gaze, the only still thing in the room full of constantly moving bodies. The doctor made no move, his hand spread on Will’s back, the other drawing controlled circles on Will’s hip, radiating heat through the denim he was wearing. Hannibal said nothing, Will wasn’t sure he was even breathing.

It him like a road train that this interested, engaged, heated, blown expression, like seeing beyond the veil was one he had only ever seen with himself. When Hannibal had killed Tobias, that expression had been on his face when Will had forgotten himself and perched close to him on the desk, desperate to reassure himself the man was still alive. The mussed up blonde hair and the messed up eyes. Will had been ashamed of how x rated his thoughts had been then, thankful that psychiatry did not yet extend to mind reading.

Then again, when they had been in the lab. The others had left and Hannibal had turned to him with the same expression, happy while his words talked of murder. Only ever with him. He realized he hadn’t ever seen the same expression with Jack or Alana. None of them. Hannibal was pleasant, polite, helpful, charming to them, but always, always controlled. This expression was like looking over the wall.

Will felt his breath hitch as he thought, felt Hannibal’s hips shift against his, the clenching of his fist at his waist in response. Was it in response? To Will’s breathing?

Will stared at him, chewing thoughtfully on his lip. Hannibal’s eyes glittered and dropped to watch, running his tongue over his teeth as he watched. It was that, that decided Will.

He lunged for Hannibal, throwing a hand up into the ash blonde hair, messing it up desperately as he drew Hannibal to him forcefully. The other hand locked around the mans’ bicep, dragging him in. he had a second to realize Hannibal’s eyes were glowing before he leant in and kissed him. Gently, the pressure in stark contrast to how he’d grabbed him. He deepened the kiss, insisting Hannibal open his mouth, worrying at Hannibal’s bottom lip with his teeth, sliding the hand on the bicep up, stroking it over the dark material of the suit to cup a jawline like cut glass in his hand. God, he wanted to devour the man.

And wherever Will’s good luck fairy had been hiding most of his life, he forgave her, because she came back now.

He felt Hannibal lift him, throw him against the wall behind him. It hurt, pushing the breath out of his mouth sharply, the small noise of pain he’d been going to make trapped between himself and Hannibal, swallowed by the psychiatrist. Hannibal’s hand fisted in the dark curls, tilting Will’s head back almost violently. His other arm was holding Will up, he could feel the muscles in it flexing as they took his weight. Hannibal’s lips were on his, full and firm and hard, bruising the soft skin there. Will opened his eyes, not wanting to miss a moment. Hannibal was staring down at him, the dark eyes blown wide. Will groaned, the sound choked and strangled as his air began to run out. He slipped a little down the wall, Hannibal shifting the hand holding him up to cup his jaw in both hands, long fingers pressing against the stubble of his chin. Hannibal’s hips slammed into him, holding him up by his own weight. He lifted his lips from Will’s, curving them into a slow smile at Will’s flushed cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Something tightened, hungry in Hannibal’s face and he ran a finger down Will’s throat, exposing it. Will’s pulse leapt underneath the doctor’s fingers.

Possibly the same woman who had knocked into Hannibal earlier, Will wasn’t sure, slapped a hand suddenly on Hannibal’s back in a joking manner. “Hey!” she exclaimed, “Love it! Who cares about the dancing? You…” She cut off suddenly, looking up at the eyes of a killer looking down at her. Hannibal’s eyes were flat and cold. There was a low, dangerous, warning growl that didn’t come from the man with soulless eyes though. Hannibal’s blonde eyebrows rose in amusement, his smile loose and languid as he looked over his shoulder at Will. The look on the FBI Agents face made him groan.

Will’s eyes flickered to him with a clipped, curt smile, before his growl ground out the words, “Take your hands off him.”

The woman obediently dropped her hand from Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal drew a crimson handkerchief the color of blood from his breast pocket and brushed the shoulder of his suit blazer, before neatly folding it and placing it back once more.

“No need to be like that,” she huffed, before Will stepped forward, past Hannibal, one hand outstretched to rest on Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal watched it for a moment, grinning a predatory smile, full of shark’s teeth. The woman seemed to backtrack and decide maybe flattering this one was easier than trying to crack onto the blonde one. “We could be friends, you know,” she urged Will. “You’ve got kind of a rugged thing going on.”

Hannibal’s hand lashed out and caught her at her wrist, his thumb sliding between the two bones in the wrist and pressing sharply. A knife edge of pain shot through her and her eyes widened. “Will you insist on being rude?” he asked, voice calm and as polite as if he were delivering a lecture to royalty. “It does so give me an appetite.” The pressure on her wrist was becoming unbearable. Hannibal’s finger pressed down further, separating the two fragile bones and ligaments there, cracking her wrist backwards in a fluid movement, looking as if he were drawing the young woman in for a kiss. “Leave,” he said firmly near her ear, “Or your other wrist will be as useless as this one.” He stepped away, bowing lightly to her. She looked down to see her right wrist useless at her side, a sharp bruise where the bones had been splintered from pressure.

She backed off quickly, stumbling backwards away from them, her words drowned out in the thumping music of the club. Hannibal drew out his handkerchief and dusted off his hands, glancing sideways at Will. “My dear, William,” he murmured darkly. “Would that be jealousy?”

Will was still glaring after the woman, though his eyes shifted back at Hannibal’s words. He grinned, a thing not often seen on Will’s face. The man was usually so serious. “I didn’t want to share you,” he joked.

Hannibal stepped into his personal space again, taking up all of it, his presence suddenly all Will could see. His fingers cupped Will’s jawline again, this time in one hand, thumb stroking the soft underside of Will’s throat. “The feeling is mutual, Agent Graham.”

Will smiled then, bright and happy, his eyes flicking to Hannibal and away again as he chuckled, a throaty sound Hannibal could have devoured. His cheekbones flushed with pleasure, a delicate blush far finer than the Botticelli’s Hannibal liked. His laugh sent a shiver down Hannibal’s spine. Will abruptly stopped laughing, leaning up to whisper in Hannibal’s ear again. The arm that snaked around his waist to hold him there was tighter; drawing Will flat against the broad chest. He could feel the smooth material of the suit jacket, the knot of Hannibal’s tie against his throat and more importantly, that he wasn’t the only one affected by this. Hannibal was hard, the evidence clear when Will glanced in that particular direction. He swallowed, a movement not missed by the psychiatrist. “Can we leave?”

Hannibal nodded, almost thankful to be leaving the place. The rhythmic drumbeat had given him a headache when he’d walked in, but all he could hear now was the pounding of his blood. “With pleasure,” he commented, leading Will in front of him with a firm hand. His eyes dropped down to watch Will walk in front, the push of his ass through the jeans he was wearing, the long, lean curves Will wasn’t even aware of, undid him neatly. Will kept his hand in Hannibal’s, feeling the man’s firm thumb run over his knuckles affectionately. He almost dragged the man out of the club until they were both stood, blinking in the sudden darkness.

Will automatically looked for his current ghosts, the murdered family he’d met earlier today. They had disappeared in the club thanks to the savage beat of the music but he had expected them to be waiting, like harbingers for him when he left. They were nowhere to be seen. All he could see was the blessed darkness of the night, the bright yellow glow of the headlights of Hannibal’s car, the gleam of the chrome on the grill and the sudden silhouette of the man he adored as he stepped in front of the headlights to unlock the car. His shoulders relaxed, letting go of a breath and tension he didn’t know he was holding. They weren’t here. No ghosts, no torment. Just Hannibal.

Hannibal turned at the relieved sigh, intrigued. Sometimes, when Will saw his ghosts, his eyes would flicker to the right long after the murder scene had been left and Hannibal knew he was still seeing their echoes. As if he were watching them, or listening to them. But Will’s eyes remained unclouded, unhaunted. “You were expecting to see them?” he guessed, referring to the dead.

“I was,” Will said, smiling to himself as Hannibal opened his door for him. “I can do that myself, you know.”

“It gives me pleasure, William,” Hannibal replied, the words so heavily laden with lust that Will blinked.

“That’s a bit of a raw pun, even for you,” he remarked. Hannibal laughed and the sound sold Will’s soul to him.

He relaxed into the plush, leather comfort of Hannibal’s passenger seat. The car smelt of leather and polish, of metal and Hannibal’s aftershave, one that unlike his, probably didn’t have a ship on the bottle. The memory of Hannibal’s remark on his own aftershave deepened his smile, Hannibal’s eyes on him as he did so. “They’re never here with you, the nightmares,” he added after a moment.

“Menin Gate at midnight,” Hannibal said, starting the car. It came to life with a luscious roar of machinery, peeling away powerfully, leaving the club behind them as it ate up the miles. Will, distracted by the thought that he was in a car with Hannibal, potentially going to the mans’ house, potentially not knowing what was about to happen and potentially praying that what he hoped was about to, barely heard. When he did, his face scrunched in confusion.

“What?”

“Menin Gate at midnight,” Hannibal repeated, sliding his phone out of his pocket. Without taking his eyes from the road he typed in a few words, passing the phone to Will. His fingers brushed against Will’s and he smiled to himself. “It is a painting referring to World War 2,” he explained, “It depicts an army of skeletal ghosts, still in their Army uniforms marching over a field of poppies towards Menin Gate.”

Will took the phone, looking down at the image. Sure enough, skeletons in Army uniforms were marching onwards, their faces haunted and accusing. They reminded him so much of his own ghosts that he started. “What about it?” he asked.

“It reminds me of your own ghosts, Will,” Hannibal explained, “Each crime scene, each murder, the ghosts marching past you.”

Will ducked his head, staring at the image on the phone. That was exactly what he saw, what it felt like. An army walking past that he could not look away from. That he was bound to follow until he discovered who their murderer was. And even then, sometimes, like Abigail, they hung around, daily reminders that he wasn’t normal. Hannibal, conscious of the sudden silence, looked over. Will’s head was bowed, chewing on his bottom lip again. Will looked up at him unexpectedly, his eyes wide. Hannibal had tried to understand, not just used the gift as he knew Jack did, though Jack was a friend. But Hannibal had obviously put thought into understanding the ghosts. He felt his heart clench painfully. Hannibal was looking at him, the dark eyes patient, then back to the road. Hannibal’s fingers gripped the wheel tightly, knuckles white while he waited for Will to speak again. A pulse beat in his throat as Will watched. The long lean body folded into the seat, coiled and graceful.

Will unbuckled his seat belt quickly and knelt up on the seat, steadying himself against the backrest. “Pull over.” He fell, rather than leapt, the acceleration of the car unbalancing him, into Hannibal. The doctor narrowly missed a curly haired head-butt to the face. Will’s lips were warm against his ear. “Pull over.”

The car skidded in the sand on the side of the road as Hannibal pulled over sharply. A car behind them blasted its horn at their abrupt manoeuver, but Will had left his seat, was clambering over the gearstick and center console to Hannibal and Hannibal was reaching for him, holding his hips firmly and watching him with eyes like fire as Will scrambled onto the drivers’ seat, where Hannibal was. As tall as the doctor was, and as much as he had the seat back to account for leg room, there still wasn’t enough room for another full sized man to be in the drivers’ seat too. Will’s back pressed against the steering wheel and accidentally set the horn off. He felt the sudden urge to laugh and the sudden urge to fuck Hannibal until his English became broken Lithuanian and he couldn’t tell which one was coming first. Will glanced down at Hannibal from his vantage position over him and was treated to the sight of Hannibal biting his lip and trying not to laugh.

Hannibal looked up, biting his lip, brown eyes smiling. At Will’s frustrated, amused expression he snorted. “I am sorry, my good Will. It’s just…” he took pity on Will and the hard on he was currently experiencing through his suit pants. “Let me.” Hannibal reluctantly took one hand off Will’s hip, leaving red half-moons where his fingers had pressed in to tanned skin and flicked the lever that released the drivers’ seat. It shifted back a few inches, enough to allow Will room to straddle Hannibal comfortably in the drivers’ seat. And when Hannibal realized that’s what he was doing, he arched up from the seat himself, snaking a hand up Will’s back to tug at the dark green jacket the man was wearing. “Off. Now, William.”

Will obeyed, the jacket being thrown into the backseat. He slid his fingers beneath the gabardine of Hannibal’s suit. “You too.” The doctor shrugged himself out of it impatiently, throwing it behind him. He reached for Will’s shirt, sitting forward to kiss the man again hungrily. Will made an impatient noise into the kiss, his hands reaching for Hannibal’s shirt, tugging at the buttons, at the black belt wrapped through the pants, at Hannibal’s thighs beneath him.

“I have wanted this since you stepped into Jack’s office,” Will breathed, immediately realizing he’d spoken his thought out loud. His cheeks drowned in crimson. Way to go, Graham.

Hannibal’s response was to palm him expertly through his jeans, placing just enough friction along the seam of the denim to have Will whimpering. “For a pure empath, your own mind is not so clear to read. Had you told me,” his hand curled into Will’s denim clad crotch, “this could have happened a lot earlier.” Will’s eyes flickered closed and he placed his hands on Hannibal’s shoulders, shoving the man back into the seat. Hannibal’s lips curved into a smile, hooking his arm around Will’s neck to draw the man in. Will panted against his throat, but pushed back from him, his fingers working at the ornate buckle on Hannibal’s belt. It snapped free and then Will’s hand was against him, on him and Hannibal thrust up automatically into the tight heat of Will’s hand. He groaned and then swore as the warm body heat of his friend slipped from him. When he opened his eyes, Will was leaning across the passenger seat once more, his shirt half open and dark hairs drawing Hannibal’s eyes. He fisted a hand in the dark curls on Will’s head and drew the man back to him, teeth grazing at the Agents’ throat. His pulse jumped under Hannibal’s teeth, points scraping against the skin. Will’s hips set up a slow rutting against Hannibal that made Hannibal growl low in his throat.

“Please,” Will asked and Hannibal would have given him anything. Will’s eyes were unfocused again, he was panting and the scent coming off the man was drowning Hannibal in the enclosed car. Hannibal nodded, watching intently to see what Will was about to do next.

Will’s mouth on his cock brought a Lithuanian curse from his lips in a yell. His fingers fisted through the dark curls and he thrust up into Will’s mouth, groaning. Will placed both hands on Hannibal’s thighs and pressed down to make him stay still, drawing his mouth slowly up Hannibal’s cock. Though he had expected the doctor would be as well-endowed in nature as he was in every other aspect, he hadn’t quite expected the uh…mouthful…that he had. Will chased down his gag reflex and swirled his tongue along the heavy skin he held. Hannibal snatched one of the hands on his thigh and brought it to his lips, kissing Will’s fingers, before resting his head against the headrest and breathing.

Will’s mouth bobbed on him, drawing out a keening sound that Will had never heard before. It was drawn out and needy and Will almost came from the sound. His cock leaking, he hummed appreciatively at the sound. Hannibal made it again, dropping Will’s fingers to grasp the man’s face forcefully with his hands and fuck upwards into his mouth. “Will,” he said brokenly. Unable to speak, the Agent looked up at him, grazing his teeth along Hannibal’s cock as he did so. His eyes smiled, glowed in the darkness of the car. Will withdrew his lips until he held the tip of Hannibal’s cock, then took him in again, loving the hard, hot, heavy weight on his tongue. Hannibal’s fingers fisted in his hair, tugging sharply on the dark curls as the man arched up beneath him, rolling his hips. Will was rock hard against the seat fabric beneath him, wanting to see how far he could push Hannibal. The older man forced Will’s mouth back down, his head back down to his crotch and held it there with two large hands, fucking up again into Will’s mouth.

He came with a throaty growl of Will’s name that made Will gasp, on the verge of coming himself. The hot fluid filled his mouth, dripping over his chin and jaw. Hannibal dragged him up and across to his lap, tugging Will’s head up to meet his own, wiping his fingers through the cum that coated Will’s jaw. Hannibal’s breathing was uncontrolled, his kisses fierce as he tasted himself on Will.

“I don’t suppose,” Will said breathily, in between kisses. Hannibal huffed angrily at him speaking, but pulled back just enough to let him talk. He gazed at the cum still coating Will’s jaw heatedly. “That your backseat goes back any further?”

Hannibal’s eyes went black and he gave a predatory grin. “No, dear Will. I have a better idea.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your lovely feedback on my 1st Chapter!


	3. Like Wrapping A Knife In Velvet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Graham was not expecting ice-cream in the middle of the night. Then again, nothing much had gone the way he expected tonight.

Will was pleased to note on the rest of the drive home, that Hannibal was most definitely not as cool, calm and collected as he had been earlier today. The blonde hair was now mussed and tussled, blonde strands falling into the maroon eyes. There was a faint sheen to Hannibal’s skin now, the scent of sex clinging to him, wrapping around him to mix with the smells of wood and smoke, steel and blood that Will usually picked up. It made for a heady aroma in the car. The black shirt was half undone, salt and pepper hair visible, the tie was somewhere in the backseat and Hannibal’s keen, hungry eyes were more on him than the road, though the Bentley never strayed from the white lines ahead of them. Hannibal looked more than a little undone and more than a little wild, as he cracked a feral grin, showing the points of his teeth as he looked over at Will. His eyes ran over him, the dark curls skewed everywhere from his hands tugging at them, the cum staining Will’s lips, the shirt, rumpled up over a pale stomach, with a snail trail of hair leading down to Will’s jeans, where his hardness was obvious. And the heated, feverish eyes, currently watching him. 

Hannibal seemed to be driving incredibly slowly, the seconds seeming like hours while Will squirmed in his seat. Every movement drew Hannibal’s eyes to him, the dark irises spending long moments resting on Will’s crotch, the straining of his jeans. A predatory smile curled Hannibal’s lips. He leant a hand over, resting it on Will’s knee, well away from where Will wanted it to be. Will twisted under the touch, a high, short, sharp sound coming from parted lips. Hannibal’s breath caught and for a moment, he considered just speeding back to the house and throwing the younger man against the door frame, fuck, the bonnet of the car even.

“Hannibal, I swear you’re driving slower,” Will said, frustrated. 

Hannibal smiled that smile again, turning the car left instead of right. Will sat up, wincing as his cock pressed firmly against the seam of his jeans. He stared out of the window, to where they should have turned. “Your house is down that way, off the route 305,” he pointed out, before realizing of course Hannibal knew where his house was. Hannibal gave him a curious look. 

“Is it, William?”

Will frowned, dark eyebrows knotting petulantly. Hannibal’s hand moved a little higher on his leg in response, stroking his thigh firmly. 

“Might we stop for ice cream, Will?” Hannibal asked, grinning. 

“What? Ice-cream? It’s 10 after midnight! I’m….”

“Quite,” Hannibal replied, eyes dropping to Will’s crotch once more. He raised his hand and brushed it softly against the denim covering Will’s cock, stroking a line down the seam. Will thrust into his hand and Hannibal growled, low in his throat. “Yes, ice-cream.”

Will stared for a moment. Ice cream? He hadn’t imagined that being the next thing they would do after, well, that. He could think of other things he wanted to be doing rather than having a soft serve. Grumpy and horny, he settled back into the seat, turning his face away from Hannibal. Though he could see Hannibal’s mirror image in the window he was staring out of, giving him an opportunity to stare at the man unbridled, a past time he enjoyed whenever he could. 

Hannibal turned the corner once more, to a gourmet café he knew that ran all night. Will sat up a little as they approached, taking care not to look Hannibal’s way. Hannibal smirked to himself, the movement drawing Will’s eyes. He glanced over, smug, at Will. “Do you have any particular flavor, Will?” 

Will swallowed. “You could always find out.”

Hannibal’s face tightened, his pupils dilating. He leant over, drawing hot lips up Will’s jawline to his ear, nuzzling against the dark curls. “Don’t worry, dear heart. I will.” Will reached for him. 

Then he slipped backwards out of the door, unfolding himself gracefully and walking towards the café. Will sat up, the better to watch him walk, the globes of his ass perfect underneath the black, impeccably tailored suit. Hannibal stepped inside the store, heading for the ice-cream section. He found what he was looking for, gourmet ice-cream cones made by hand, by an old Italian man who never seemed to sleep. He conversed a few words with the man in Italian, before leaving the store with two. Will was stretched out in the seat, looking eminently fuckable. Hannibal handed him his ice-cream and kept his own in one hand, driving back to his house with the other hand, his foot heavy on the accelerator. The Bentley roared its way through the quiet streets. 

Will turned his attention to the ice-cream, biting the bottom of the cone as he always did. Hannibal snorted with laughter. Will turned to him, mouth open to catch the ice-cream as it came dripping out of the cone. “Yes, Doctor Lecter?”

“That is not how you eat an ice-cream cone,” Hannibal murmured, placing the hand on the steering wheel back on Will’s thigh and driving with his knees. 

“Might not be how you eat one in Lithuania, but its how we do it here in the US of A,” Will commented, his jaw working on the ice-cream.

Hannibal’s eyes were fixed on his jaw, on the swallowing motion which only minutes before had been employed on his cock. It twitched in response, hard again. He watched the movement of Will's throat as he swallowed, the slow movement of veins and nerves against the pale skin, his own mouth dry. 

Will had no idea of the effect he was having, concentrating only on the taste of the ice-cream - of course Hannibal couldn’t have gone for a soft serve. Of course he just had to know the most delectable ice-cream in Baltimore. Of course - his eyes shifted to Hannibal then, noticing too late the white knuckled hands on the steering wheel and the heat in his eyes - it tasted like dirt next to the taste of the other man’s lips, or his skin. Will's cheekbones colored crimson and he swallowed the last of the ice-cream, flicking a quick, rare smile at Hannibal. "If I'd have noticed your reaction before, I would have eaten it slower."

Hannibal smirked, turning the corner at speed without losing his grip on his own ice-cream. "It is good to see you eat." He meant it; he had never actually seen Will eat except at his own table. The man seemed to exist on coffee and veiled sarcasm. Will eyeballed the ice-cream in Hannibal's hand. He hadn't so much as lost a drop, but it was starting to collapse in slow motion. He was still rock hard and aching, and the thought of ice-cream dripping onto Hannibal's skin made him twist in the suddenly uncomfortable leather of the Bentley seats. It wasn't helped by the devious grin, or the shadows in Hannibal's face lit up by the blinking lights below and behind him. Will found himself unable to move, for once, the long fingers were not the first thing in his thoughts. Hannibal raised his ice-cream, noticing Will's eyes followed it. "This one is mine," Hannibal pointed out. "You've had yours."

Will shrugged, which was more effort than it looked when his skin was red raw. His hand crept over to Hannibal's driver’s seat, resting against the solid weight of the mans' thigh. Hannibal dropped the hand steering, to cover Wills with his own, running his fingers over the knuckles with surprising gentleness, driving with his knees again. "You're going to get it on the leather," he pointed out, nodding at the collapsing cone. The laugh that came from Hannibal was sinful, midnight in velvet, crawling under Will's skin and sending shivers down his spine. 

Hannibal solved the problem by taking a slow, spiral swipe of the ice-cream with his tongue to catch the mess before it collapsed. Or by the fact his voice was almost as sinful as the ice-cream now sitting on his lips. "That's what you're thinking right now?" he asked, curious and amused. Will opened his mouth to say no, that’s not all I'm thinking. What I'm thinking is that you'll drop the ice-cream and I'll lick every last drop from your skin, what I'm thinking is you'll pull over and drag me over there. Hannibal's eyes darkened as if he could read the thoughts, his eyes only moving from Wills to judge the distance between the garage and the Bentley neatly. He parked, stroked a finger along Will's wrist as he pulled the handbrake up and slipped out into the cool darkness of the night. Will stumbled out after him, finding Hannibal suddenly close enough to insinuate a curious hand beneath the pale grey of Will's t shirt. Hannibal's fingers skittered lightly across his stomach, tapping out a beat only he could hear. The four beat, rapid pace of a stag’s heartbeat, Will realized.

He gripped Hannibal's wrist tightly. "Stop messing about and take me, in there."

"Would that be a double entendre, William?" Hannibal asked, raising his eyes from their locked wrists to Will's gaze. He winked and took a step backwards, though not without a sigh, moving to his doorway and drawing out a key. Will was behind him in an instant, his hand warm on the small of Hannibal's back, feeling the burning heat of the man’s skin beneath the fabric of his shirt. He coiled it in his hand, bunching it, threatening to rip it off in the doorway, so the old woman who lived opposite could see and have a heart attack. 

Hannibal turned slowly, looking over his shoulder. "When your heat fades, when you can think a little calmer, without..." he took a step closer to Will, glancing down, "Will you still feel the same way?"

Will's throat closed, his breath catching. Unexpected tears stung at his eyes and he turned away. Hannibal caught his jaw with a thumb and dragged it back to him. "Don't turn away from me." There was a firm command beneath the warm tone. Hannibal made no move, waiting for his answer. Only a tic in his jaw belied the fact he wasn’t completely calm. 

"Didn't you hear me in the club?" Will asked, looking down at his shoes, up at the wall, the ceiling and then finally back at the burning eyes in front of him. "I said I'd wanted this since I first met you."

Hannibal smirked softly in response, pressing Will up against one of the walls, next to a Matisse painting. Hannibal's lips were close; the bow of them pronounced and within breathing distance, but Hannibal spoke instead of the furious kisses Will wanted. "You're an impossible thing," he replied, fondly. Will's mouth dropped open. Hannibal stroked his thumb along his bottom lip, leaning in still closer and pressing his lips against Will's. His hand cupped Will's jaw, the other one tilting his neck back to expose a slender throat. Hannibal's lips grazed the pale skin there, his teeth leaving stinging marks that had no time to settle before they were there again. The addictive eyes held onto Will. 

Will whined, twisting against the lean, corded muscles in Hannibal's shoulders and arms. Hannibal's hips pinned him to the wall and he could feel everything. "Will you just..."

Hannibal reluctantly pulled his mouth away from Will's neck, arching an ashy blonde eyebrow. "What do you want, William?" 

"Stop...stop messing around. Can you just...how about you just properly do this...celebrate your victory over me with a good fuck?" He murmured close to Hannibal's ear, putting an obscene amount of emphasis on the final word, until it wrapped itself around them like a cloak. Hannibal swallowed hard, his eyes narrowing, feral. Will groaned in response to the animalistic look on Hannibal's face. Hannibal took a step back, the space between them suddenly cold and empty. He reached for the tie, now loosely around his neck and unwound it, wrapping it around his fist as he went. 

"Move," he gave Will a controlled shove down his hallway. Will obeyed, hearing Hannibal's solid footsteps behind him. He paused for a moment in the kitchen, before Hannibal's hands were on his shoulders, gripping firmly and pointing past him to stairs. "Up." Will wasn't exactly mooching slowly up the stairs, but apparently his movements were too slow for Hannibal, feeling the man bend and throw him over his shoulder, before taking the rest of the stairs.

Hannibal deposited him at the top of the stairs with a kiss to the back of his neck, nudging his bedroom door open with his back as he kept heated eyes on Will. He flicked his fingers at Will in a gesture to follow him in, stretching the tie between his wrists. As Will crossed into Hannibal’s bedroom, Hannibal grabbed both his wrists in one hand, bunching them together to grind bone on bone. He wrapped the tie over and between Will’s wrists expertly, until a fingers breadth could hardly fit between tie and skin. He tested it by tugging on it, his eyes shifting upwards to gauge Will’s reaction. Will was biting his lip, his eyes blown. Hannibal gave him a predatory smile and dragged him into the center of the bedroom by his makeshift handcuffs. 

“Bend over,” Hannibal ordered, pointing to the beautifully ornate set of dresser drawers directly opposite the bed. Will’s hands touched cool mahogany, his knees jutting against pearl handles, the dresser drawers the right height to present him that way to Hannibal. His muscles stretched and the cold wood pressed against his skin. With Hannibal stood just behind him, the weight of his eyes on Will bent over in front of him, kicking Will’s legs apart so Will was spread, though still clothed, Will couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything else in the world. Hannibal unbuckled Will’s belt in one smooth move, throwing it neatly on the dresser. He slid his fingers around Will’s hips, unzipped him slowly, and then just tore the jeans from Will. The denim, old and battered, tore and fragmented under Hannibal’s hands. 

Will found himself staring down at his hands flat on the dresser, suddenly naked as Hannibal took the waistband of his boxers and ripped. Fuck. He heard the fabric tear and realized he was staring down at the remote control for a television “Just to warn you,” Will said hoarsely, “If you suddenly turn on porn, I’m out of here.”

Hannibal paused, “I have no wish for the tawdry images you Americans parade, but with you bending over for me in such an…apt manner…it could lend itself to their frenetic pace.” Will swallowed, feeling Hannibal’s hands trace the skin of his thighs, the touch feather light, not at all what he had expected. Hannibal was a thunderstorm. Hannibal’s hands moved, stroked in their delicate touches. 

“Don’t you dare, Hannibal” he warned, keeping his eyes on the remote. 

“William, I have told you once not to tell me what to do,” Hannibal barked. He brought a hand down sharply on Will’s ass, where a red mark appeared instantly. Hannibal gave a huff of contentment in his throat. Will turned his head, looked through his shoulder to see the cocky smirk Hannibal was giving himself. The older man met his eyes, the smirk widening to show the sharp canines. “Though I do love it when you say my first name.” Others used it, Alana mostly, and it did not sound right. When Will said his first name, it had a plea in it even when the room was packed with people. It sounded somehow possessive, somehow right. 

Will moaned at the slap, finding himself panting and biting his lip. He stretched his wrists against the tie holding them together. Hannibal’s hand grabbed his jaw roughly, tugging his lip free. He could feel the weight of Hannibal pressing into him, the man’s 5 o clock shadow rough against Will’s own as Hannibal took the offending lip between his teeth and worried at it, until it was flushed with blood. “Don’t. I want to hear you.”

Will nodded, twisting his head into Hannibal’s neck, seeking contact. Hannibal gripped the back of his head, winding his fingers through dark curls, before he stepped back, taking most of the contact between them away, and sucking all the air out of the room as he did so. 

“Hannibal.”

A wet finger shoved roughly into him, sending shockwaves of heat into his veins. Will lowered his head and keened at the feeling, pressing himself back against Hannibal eagerly “More. Please. More.”

“Why William,” Hannibal murmured quietly, “Do you mean to tell me you’re not the vanilla type?”

Will could see the smugness on Hannibal’s face without turning to check if he was right. He chuckled hoarsely, his cock aching against the dresser, weeping precum onto the antique mahogany. “You know my mind better than I do. You know there’s nothing about me that’s vanilla.”

Hannibal snorted with a rich, dark laughter from behind him. “Except your awful aftershave.” He twisted his finger slowly in Will, drawing out a long moan that shot straight to his cock. Will wanted to form a clever reply to that; he was given the aftershave after all, it wasn’t like he deliberately sought it out. Ok, maybe he did, but only because when he saw Hannibal’s nostrils flare at the scent, he knew the man was actively searching out his scent. But the distracting movements of Hannibal’s finger left him unable to find a coherent sentence anywhere. 

A second finger joined the first, sparks firing in his blood. “At least…” Will panted, Hannibal stilling his movements to allow him to talk, “At least it’s not wax, overripe petunias and sea spray, like Chilton.” Hannibal gave a disgusted noise from behind him, then the sound of a belt buckle and rich material hitting the floor. Fuck. Hannibal was naked behind him. 

“I agree, Will, but perhaps that is a conversation that may wait. I would much rather fuck you into the darkness you crave.”

Will’s smirk at that, turned into a jaw dropping gasp as Hannibal’s fingers picked up pace. The thrusts became hypnotic. Will looked up, finding a mirror above his headline, just visible if he bent a little lower. Hannibal growled at the subservient posture Will had placed himself into, catching Will’s eyes in the mirrors reflection. Will’s breath grew short. Hannibal’s eyes were glowing in the dim light of the bedroom, the pupils blown, his hair mussed, his teeth wild and his throat pulsing. Hannibal placed a hand on his back and shoved him down still further, Will wriggling a little, not enough to get away but enough to show a fight. Hannibal’s hand shifted from his back to slap his ass again, hard, before gripping his thigh hard enough to leave bruises through to next week. Hannibal rammed himself into him in one rough move. 

Will cursed, yelling out Hannibal’s name. The other man’s cock felt hot and heavy within him, stretching him more than he thought possible, causing his body to shudder and a hoarse, aching cry come from his lips. The tie around his wrists dug in to his skin as he strained, forcing himself further back. That growl again from Hannibal, seeing this. 

The grip on his hips as Hannibal slammed into him again, the whiskers and the lips at his throat, finding the frantic pulse there and biting. Marking him. Even if this never happened again, there would be a scar at his throat. 

Hannibal’s thrusts were each harder than before, ripping uncontrolled groans out from Hannibal, groans that had Will reaching for his cock as much as he could, his wrists tied as they were. Hannibal slapped his hand away. “No.” His voice was rough and horny and Will wanted to burn it in his memory. Will’s cock was painfully hard, but with his hands bound, he couldn’t help himself. The harsh moan that curled in his throat as he realized he was helpless before Hannibal mixed with the heady skin on skin slap of Hannibal’s thighs against his own. Will could do nothing other than roll his hips back to Hannibal’s rhythm.   
“My dear William,” Hannibal said, a low whisper of midnight. Will turned his head, pleading with his eyes for Hannibal to lean forward a little more as he thrust. With a slam to his prostrate that caused him to see stars, Hannibal obliged, his forehead resting on Will’s shoulder. Will felt the stubble of his jaw along his shoulder, resting his head against Hannibal’s. He wanted the words to reply, but the next thrust brought tears to his eyes. The air was filled with his own obscene pants and gasps, and the rough, heady groans from Hannibal. Then a low, dominant growl from Hannibal. 

The older man withdrew, leaving Will gaping and empty. “What the fuck?”

“Language,” Hannibal said automatically. He took hold of Will’s neck and dragged him upwards, kissing Will fiercely as he did so. Will turned into him, Hannibal sliding his hands into the dark curls and pulling Will’s head back, attacking the tender skin at his throat. His teeth found the mark he’d made earlier, biting once more, enough to have Will arching into him. 

He sucked at the bruise he’d left there, before speaking with his lips against battered skin. “Give me your wrists.” Will held them out obligingly; the tone in Hannibal’s voice suggested no other alternative. He knew he would have followed it anywhere. Hannibal slipped his fingers through the knot and undid the tie from Will’s wrists, quickly. Will’s wrists ached suddenly as blood flowed back into them. He ignored the pain and reached for Hannibal, smoothing his hands over the roped and bunched muscles of Hannibal’s shoulders, the firm curve of his spine, the swell of his stomach, the pert ass he’d watched at crime scenes until his mouth was dry. Free to touch Hannibal, he did so like a drowning man sucking for air. 

Hannibal slammed him against the wall, narrowly missing knocking him into the edge of the dresser. He lifted him until his feet were off the ground, a thick, muscled forearm wrapped around his hips to steady him. Will wrapped his legs around Hannibal’s waist, hooking them at his back, dragging Hannibal in towards him. A purr came from Hannibal’s throat that made him quiver. Will’s cock rubbed against Hannibal’s bare stomach, the friction making his eyes close. The purr grew louder, “You look like a work of art.”

“A Picasso?” Will suggested. Nothing was where it was supposed to be and a messed up face, he’d make a good Picasso he thought. 

“A Botticelli,” Hannibal replied, his eyes dark with lust. 

Hannibal thrust into the wonderful tightness and heat once more, a fierce rut that brought enough friction to the cock against his stomach to make them both shiver. Will sought his mouth, a messy kiss that ended with teeth and the hint of blood. He panted into Hannibal’s mouth. “I’m gonna…”

Hannibal nodded, stroking Will’s wild, lost face with his free hand as Will’s back arched and his face convulsed. Hannibal was forced to use both hands to hold him tighter as he came, thick white streams coating Hannibal’s stomach. Hannibal thrust once more, a feral roar tearing from his throat as he came deep in Will. 

Will felt Hannibal’s orgasm rip through him as the man rode him, the cum spilling inside of him and bringing an aftershock to his sex soaked limbs. He brushed the sweaty blonde locks from Hannibal’s forehead and gave him an unexpected kiss there. Hannibal’s burnt, ruined eyes glance up and held his. 

“Stay the night,” he ordered. 

“How about the rest of my life?” Will offered. 

The laugh that came from Hannibal was a knife wrapped in velvet, happy and lust ridden.


End file.
